


Fistful of Mercy

by AtmosphericDisruption



Series: I Think I'll Be Their God [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmosphericDisruption/pseuds/AtmosphericDisruption
Summary: A series of mostly unconnected drabbles. Dami-centric. Written from 2009 to present.





	1. Patrol

Damian twitched with barley controlled energy. His fingers drummed on the kitchen table as he shifted restlessly in his seat. He longs to break something. Quick fingers shuffle through the sheets paper scattered across the table, putting them in some semblance of order. He couldn't get any more done tonight, not with this restlessness making it impossible to focus. 

He idly doodles on the corner of a file folder before losing interest.

A well-aimed thrown leaves Bruce's fountain pen lodged in the kitchen ceiling.

Damian rolls his shoulders, trying to release some of the tension. In a flurry of motion he pushes back from the table, the chair skidding across the polished floor. He gets to his feet, hurrying into the sitting room and up to the grandfather clock. He halts in front of the unassuming fixture, chewing the inside of his lip as he collects himself.

He really shouldn't, its cold and drizzling and his father certainly would not approve and they are doing so well....

He takes a step closer. It's not like Bruce would find out immediately. He could leave and be back within a few hours, he's sure of it. He just needs to let go, break a few people things, free fall from the observatory, perhaps crash a back room poker game or two...

He stalks forward and opens the grandfather clock, making his way down the steps and to the locker room before he changes his mind.

Damian dresses quickly, slipping on flexible black armour instead of his usual bright fare. He clips on a matte black utility belt and a re-purposed cape (from Grayson's stint as The Bat), before carefully applying a white mask over his eyes. He uses one of the display cases as a mirror to make sure it's straight. Next is a mask to cover the lower half of his face. It is detailed to look like a skull, and the effect is rather striking, if he does say so himself. He peers at his reflection in one of the suit displays and frowns, the cape it a bit much….

He tosses it in the vicinity of his work table as he heads to the vehicle port, stopping only to pick up a pair of T-batons. He selects one of Drakes old bikes, doing a quick sweep for any trackers before hightailing it out of the cave and towards the city. The thick smell of rain invades his senses even though none falls from the overcast sky and he breaths deeply. The view as he crosses the bridge is spectacular. The city glows as if it was lit by fire rather than electric lamps, the bustle growing louder as. Damian ditches the bike as soon as he enters Old Gotham, taking to the rooftops as he begins to search for entertainment his patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & Kudos always welcome. <3


	2. Family

Nights like these are the worst. It’s humid and quiet and there is nothing to keep his thoughts at bay. He remembers visiting his brothers, deformed ugly(beautiful) things kept in tubes to serve as a reminder, a testament to how far they league has come. His eldest brother has no eyes and a large portion of his skull is missing, Damian named him Anthony. His second brother, Augustus, looks perfectly normal on the outside but during the second trimester his blood turned to acid in his veins. Marcus’ organs developed outside of his body and his skin is as transparent as glass. Julius had a heart the size of a softball and jagged bone spurs erupting from his spine, there’s a sloppy drawing of a stegosaurus taped to his tank.

He used to sneak into the birthing chamber and watch them, continually replace their numbers with the names he picked. He talked to them, complained about his tutors and his training, and they were silent, the machines that displayed their vitals beeping softly. Sometimes, he would sing to them, and their readouts would spike into the normal range.

He misses them; filling pages in his sketchbook with a family that would never exist to make him feel better about the one he didn’t quite fit into and never wanted him in the first place. He likes to imagine that they could give the bat clan a run for their money, an efficient team of assassins that make the world their playground. And it’s nice to think that they would see him, not as a replacement, but as an addition to the team, another part of the family. They would have gotten along beautifully. He knows it’s pointless to daydream, to posit unsound theories based on little to no information. But he can’t help it. He’s supposedly the perfect one, the one that they –finally- got right. But he doesn’t feel like it. He feels just as deformed and ugly as those first tries.


	3. Am I Still My Father's Son?

He never imagined working with his father would be like this. Based on the information compiled from the last four people to hold the title, he should at least see his father more than once every three days or so. And when he wore the cowl...sure they went out once a week maybe bit most of the time he was grounded, his father citing his anger as a problem.   
  
That he could understand.   
  
At least to a point.   
  
And then the trips started. He started seeing the man less and less, both in an out of uniform. He would be called away on classified mission that lasted weeks if not moths and Robin was grounded the entire time.   
  
When there was a large something happening in Gotham, he was called as a last resort. Sometimes it felt as if he was being paraded out just to show the world that this one wasn’t dead yet.   
  
It hurt seeing his father pick –everyone- over him every time, Brown was good but she wasn’t at his level, Miss Cain...he didn’t even want to think about that situation. Maybe if he was mute, or def, or damaged in some way father would accept him. But he swallowed that hurt and his pride and soldiered on. It was his choice after all.   
  
He had hoped that his father would come to like him, that they could work together as a team like Grayson and he had. And Grayson...he had never known he could miss someone so much. It was like this ever present ache in the centre of his chest that made it hard to breath. And every time he saw his father, every time they “worked” together all he could remember was what had been.   
  
But again, it was his choice. So he compiled a new costume, sewn together from bit and pieces of discarded identities and called himself Redbird. (Flamebird would be rather presumptions. It’s not like Nightwing wanted another partner.) That helped...he could take out his anger and frustration on the trash of Gotham and no one knew. He could finally be –himself- more so than with Grayson even. He kept under the radar, trying to keep attention focused elsewhere. And it seemed to be working. He snuck out nearly every night his father was gone and stretched his wings. He refused to grow stagnant on the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are most appreciated!


End file.
